


Caster | Sherlock Holmes - Some Things Are All In The Telling

by HolyGrailWarGM (RavenkinLegacy)



Series: Wait and Hope [2]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenkinLegacy/pseuds/HolyGrailWarGM
Summary: Ritsuka is, as always, embarrassed about their own display of feelings; Holmes is, as always, a voice of reason.  Jeanne Alter “helps”.
Series: Wait and Hope [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688962
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Caster | Sherlock Holmes - Some Things Are All In The Telling

**Author's Note:**

> YO SPOILERS for the Shinjuku Singularity. You have been warned.

Up on the roof of the Roost, surrounded by crisp air, overseeing the lights and the noise from on high, it’s easy to pretend that this Shinjuku is the place I used to know. Sure, the lights are from the fires of arson and the noises are the cries of knock-off Demonic Beasts, but… It almost seems like home.

I lean over the railing again, against Jeanne’s warning, to see if I can spot the source of the latest growling, when the door to the roof creaks open behind me.

“Miss d’Arc was right, you know,” the voice of Sherlock Holmes floats from the staircase, “you’ll catch your death up here if you’re not careful. Miss Kyrielight would never forgive me if you fell.”

_ Oh, good. Exactly the person I want to see right now. _ I wince, then try to cover it with a laugh. It’s a bad cover. He’ll see right through it. “Ha. Yeah. Sorry.”  _ Wow. Smooth. _ I pull back from the railing and turn to face him.

As Holmes joins me at the railing, my conversation with Jeanne Alter from twenty minutes ago plays back in my head.

***

“Augh, Jeanne, I’m such an idiot!” The metal of the railing against my forehead did little to cool the burning embarrassment that I was finally allowing myself to feel.

Beside me, Jeanne snorted indelicately. “Yeah, you’re not gonna get any argument from me there.” I turned to glower at her, but she just rolled her eyes so hard that I was surprised she didn't sprain anything. She went on, “I mean, whaddya want me to say?  _ No, Master, you’re totally fine. The perfect picture of composure and poise. _ Is that what you want? Because I’m not going to say it. Even  _ thinking _ it makes me wanna barf.” The disgusted noise accompanying her declaration was a believable imitation of that.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Even if she wasn't helpful, she was at least committed to her attitude. I stood up straight and leaned over the railing to look down at the street below. Funny; when I lived here, it would have terrified me to look down into the streets from this height. But after Solomon… Nothing really scared me anymore.

Nothing except making a damn fool of myself in front of my Servants.

“I just can’t believe I did that, you know? I couldn’t even be sure that he was Dantes -- I was just so--”

The rough hand at the back of my collar, jerking me back away from the railing, startled me out of my monologue. Jeanne glared at me. “Stupid?”

The frown I leveled at her had no weight and I knew it. “That’s not exactly where I was going with that…”

“No, Master, where you were going was right over the railing and into the street. And then where would we be? The ice bitch queen and I would have to work together on our own, and then we’d all be doomed.” She released me with a sniff and an eyeroll. “Look, if you’re so damn embarrassed, just talk to him. He’s probably already figured you out anyway.”

“Careful, Jeanne,” I scolded lightly, “you almost sound like you have faith in Holmes’ abilities.”

She barked out an ugly laugh. “Hell no. You’re just really obvious, that’s all.”

“O-oh,” I stammered, “am I?”

Jeanne answered with another disgusted noise as she crossed the roof toward the stairwell door. “How did I get stuck with such a dumbass Master?” She lamented.

“I let you set things on fire!” I called, by way of peace offering.

She swung the door open. “I’d do that anyway!”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving me with my own embarrassment and the cool night air.

***

I stick my hands into my pockets and lean back against the railing to mirror Holmes’ posture. He has at least done me the courtesy of settling a few feet away and of waiting a few moments before speaking again.

“Miss d’Arc and Miss Pendragon suggested that you might have something to talk about with me?”

His tone is light and leading, but no amount of kindness in the world could counteract the bone-deep embarrassment that his words bring on.

“Oh, they’re both in on it, are they?” I groan. “Typical. The only thing those two can agree on is torturing me.”

Holmes arches one elegant eyebrow. “Am I so difficult to talk to, that conversation with me is considered a war crime?”

“No, no!” I shake my head vigorously. “That’s not what I meant! Sorry-- I just-- ah, it’s…” 

“And with Misses d’Arc and Pendragon, and that blasted Archer in attendance, even!” He laments, “I really must be slipping.”

The mischievous smile that curls around his mouth stops my apology in its tracks. Jeanne’s mockery echoes in my mind.  _ He’s probably already figured you out anyway. _ I huff and sulk, “You're only teasing me because you've already got it all figured out.”

A quiet chuckle escapes Holmes. “I tease because it has seemed to work out well enough for the others. I thought perhaps it would bring you out of your shell. Please accept my apologies if I've overstepped.”

I huff out a chuckle of my own. “It's alright. After the week I've had, I needed it.” I pause. “Have you got it all figured out, then? Am I spared the agony of explanation?”

His expression is kind, but that spark of mischief remains. “Some things are less about the knowledge and more about the telling.”

“I don't remember that as a quote from Doyle.” But I have to admit that he’s right. It doesn’t matter if he’s already figured everything out; I still owe him an apology for my behavior. My incredibly embarrassing behavior.

When that first phone call came from “the Count”, I had been speechless. Relief and rapture had flooded my system, washing away thoughts of “how” and “why” and replacing them with the ecstatic joy of working with Avenger once more.

The adrenaline from the revelation of his presence had kept me in one piece through Assassin’s kidnapping and being carried halfway across Shinjuku. When “the Count” showed up in person to break me out, that relief and rapture had easily doubled. Seeing him in fragmented dreams, or even at the Temple of Time, was nothing compared to being there with him in the flesh.

I was too eager to grab his hand during our mad dash toward the exit, too eager to cling to him during the escape when we needed to move faster than my mortal legs could keep up, and definitely too happy to deliver a grateful kiss to his cheek once we were clear of the tower.

And when he happened to turn his head at the right moment, and that kiss landed at the corner of his mouth? I didn't plan it, but I sure wasn't going to take it back.

It hadn’t been until he got hurt in the fight with the King Lear, when I shouted his name --  _ Dantes! _ \-- and he responded not with disdain but with reassurance --  _ I’m alright! You haven’t lost me yet. _ \-- that I began to get suspicious.

Until then, my rescuer’s mannerisms had been perfect. His tone had carried the right mix of vicious sarcasm, vicious sincerity, and vicious liberty. He spoke like Avenger, moved like Avenger, even fought like Avenger. But he didn’t react like Avenger, and when Holmes pulled aside the metaphorical curtain on his disguise, all I could think of was burying my hands in his coat, feeling his arm wrapped tightly around my back and the corner of his mouth warm against my lips. It was honestly a miracle that I didn’t die on the spot.

Even now, several hours later and knowing that I owe Holmes an apology, it takes me three tries of opening and closing my mouth before I can get any words out.

“I, uh. I owe you an apology,” I start. It seems like as good a place as any.

Holmes, mercifully, says nothing. He merely pulls a pipe from somewhere inside his coat and sticks it into his mouth. He doesn’t light it yet, and I wonder briefly if he plans to just chew it until we finish talking. That thought brings a memory of lighting a cigarette for Dantes at the end of the world, a memory which I promptly shove to the side.

“I acted… unseemly toward you, Mr. Holmes,” my voice slips into the refuge of arch formality, “and I apologize for that. If I had known it was you who came to rescue me, I’d like to think I would have been more reserved.”

Sherlock Holmes studies my face for a long moment -- always a little unsettling, because I know that he’s seeing far more than I want to let him see -- then he laughs. It’s an honest, open laugh, not mocking or scheming at all. After being surrounded by Alters for a week, I’m pleased to find it refreshing. “Your apology is accepted,” he tells me, “although I feel the need to assure you that it is unnecessary. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

I blink at him. Whatever the correct words are to say here, I can’t manage to find them So instead, I just blink and tilt my head like Saber's Cavall II downstairs.

Holmes’ smile turns gentle and maybe a little rueful. “Do you know why I chose the form of Edmond Dantes when I came here?”

I shake my head, not really trusting myself to speak past the sudden lump in my throat.

He goes on, “It wasn’t only because I was banking on the image of the man being terrifying to behold. Nor was it just because we have similar builds, nor because the magic that I can cast can easily mimic his shadows. Those were definitely bonuses, don't misunderstand, but they were far from being the most important components of this plan.”

I turn back around to lean my forearms on the railing and stare out at the city once more. Sherlock remains where he is, leaning back against the railing and keeping watch on the roof and the stairwell door. Still, I say nothing. I’m beginning to have my suspicions, but as he said -- some things are all in the telling.

“The biggest reason that I chose the form of Edmond Dantes,” Holmes concludes, “is because of you.”

At that, I do make an inquisitive noise.

Holmes goes on, his tone edging into eagerness as he explains, “The sparse interaction that you and I have had so far suggests the groundwork for a productive working relationship, but it’s a paucity of information compared to the bonds you share with other Servants. Positive though it has been, it’s hardly been enough to provide conclusive evidence about whether or not you find me to be a trustworthy and reliable companion.”

I hum.

He lights the pipe and begins to pace. “So when I was planning for possible modes of ingress into this Singularity, and when I realized that I needed a disguise, TRI-HERMES helpfully provided the figure of Edmond Dantes. There was -- and still remains -- very little margin for error in this plan. If at any point you had decided not to listen to me, you might very well have been dead.” He pauses to gauge my response. The smoke from the end of his pipe curls around him briefly before the night breeze whisks it away.

I must look perplexed, because he goes on, “I say that not to brag, of course, but simply to convey the weight of the events thus far. In order to help you survive, I needed you to trust my judgement and orders, to do the things that I asked and to move with me as one without hesitation until we were out of the fire. To do that, I needed to take on the face of someone who you trust implicitly. You see, I was counting on your trust in him to make this plan work.” He pauses again in the monologue to tilt his head toward me with a secretive smile. “And if you’ll forgive me the deception, I think it worked out quite well.”

I remain silent for a long moment, digesting this. As I suspected, Sherlock Holmes had already been aware enough of my feelings toward Dantes to factor them into his plans. The revelation of that visibility should be mortifying, but instead I feel gratitude for the delicacy of his delivery. He could have crowed in victory, teased me for my enthusiasm, or scolded me for my trust, but he did none of those things. I appreciate that.

But true to form, I can’t just respond straight faced. I crack a sidelong smirk at him and tease, “If you wanted to kiss me that badly, Mr. Holmes, you needn't have gone to the lengths of such a long game.”

Before I can blink, my back is to the railing, his arms braced on either side of me. The scent of his tobacco smoke and his cologne fills my senses. The dark cloak -- so much like the Count’s -- whips around us in the wind. Holmes arches one thin eyebrow at my surprised expression.

“Is that so?” My ears can barely hear his low murmur over the wind, but his teasing intent coils through my chest as he studies my face. The warm thrum of his magic is easier to feel than the warmth of his physical form -- despite his pose of caging me against the railing, he is keeping a respectful distance. His eyes remain on my own, a study and a challenge wrapped into one.

And yet…  _ It’s just Holmes _ , I think as I study him in return.

“Hmm,” he muses after a moment of silence, “interesting.”

I let my own lifted eyebrow ask for details.

“Pulse, regular. Pupils, ordinary. Skin tone, same as always.” He leans his head a little to the side and quirks a slight smile. “You're not even the type to hide their blush in their ears.”

That gets a snort of laughter out of me, and all at once the artificial tension crumbles. Sherlock steps back, steadying me as he goes. “I must compliment your bluff, my dear Master, but sadly I've seen through that one.”

I laugh and step away from the railing, aiming for the building door. The night air and my embarrassment have both cooled enough that I’m eager to get back inside. “What gave me away?”

Together we cross the rooftop, and he replies, “You were far too calm and bold in your teasing. You tease Ms. d’Arc in the same way, with no interest in her. Your response to the Count - although enthusiastic - had the qualities of an adolescent toward their first object of adoration.”

My feet stumble beneath me. “Wow. Rude.”

Sherlock chuckles and opens the door for me. “As they say now, I call them like I see them. But rest assured, Master: should you ever want to try your luck with deception again, I submit myself as a willing target.”

My laughter echoes into the stairway and out to the night sky. “Mr. Holmes, are you flirting with me? Is that what that was?”

His infectious smile follows me down. “I leave that to your deduction.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one that I wrote in one tense and ended up switching to another, so it's probably all over the place and I'll have to edit it three more times before I'm satisfied.
> 
> I was going to put this into my Dreams series, but decided that a new series would be a better place for it. So here we are! This is a missing scene that takes place during the Singularity. I just really wanted to see this conversation happen, because my MC is and always will be head-over-heels for the Count and as cool as they can be under pressure, they have zero chill about crushes.


End file.
